


To Err is Human

by lionofsounis



Category: The Queen's Thief - Megan Whalen Turner
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-Book 5: Thick as Thieves (Queen's Thief), some other confessions too while we're at it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-18 17:48:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28622058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lionofsounis/pseuds/lionofsounis
Summary: "I have lied to you.""You have also come back for me when I was trapped at the bottom of a well, watched over me when I was too ill to stand or speak, told me stories in the dark when there were lions and assassins and slavers chasing us down, and tried to get yourself executed in my place. And though my King never would have done so, I can still appreciate the motivation behind it. I would be a fool to think-- After spending so much time with my king, I would be a fool to think that liars cannot love, or that one cannot love a liar."
Relationships: Kamet/Costis Ormentiedes
Comments: 2
Kudos: 30





	To Err is Human

**Author's Note:**

> Set immediately after Thick as Thieves, on the ship.
> 
> (psst did you know that to love another person is to see the face of God?)

_To err is human._

***

I had to screw up my courage before knocking on the door of the Attolian's cabin. It was not that I didn't want to speak with him, or see him, it was just that I knew when I did we would have to speak of what had happened. That I did not relish.  
  
Somehow I had not noticed the extra, unoccupied cabin as we were preparing to set sail, though now that Costis was here it was clear that Eugenides had orchestrated all, as usual. I wondered at the perversity and compassion of the king of Attolia -- was he being kind in giving me my own space rather than making me share with Costis again? Allowing me to work through my thoughts alone before returning to the Attolian? I couldn't help but compare it to Eugenides and Attolia's separate rooms, a situation they maintained even now that their affection for one another was obvious to their court. Then again, perhaps he was simply refusing to make things easy for me. Perhaps it was a mockery; perhaps he knew it was more likely I'd spend the entire voyage to Roa in my own cabin, stewing and agonizing over every past interaction with Costis until I could stand it no longer and was forced to knock on his door and grovel my apologies.  
  
Perhaps it was a mix of both. The king had made it abundantly clear that the same wave of his royal hand could be both kind and cruel.  
  
And yet, I suspected, in this case, it was the latter.  
  
Perhaps it was because I wanted to spite Eugenides by not doing what he expected that I waited only until just after we had set sail. Or perhaps it was simply because I had missed the Attolian and wanted to see him again.  
  
I suspected it was the latter.  
  
I did take some time to sort out my words. I am a writer and a scribe, not only by trade, but by nature, and so, it is in my nature to prepare my words in advance. I had a very pretty speech planned out. Perhaps a little too long, but I had whittled it down as much as I thought possible. I had long since learned that the Attolian could sit still to listen to a long story, but I thought it best to get to the point as quickly as possible.  
  
I took one more deep breath to steady myself, and knocked on his door.  
  
"Come in," came the muffled reply.  
  
I took another deep breath, and lifted the latch.  
  
I did not look at him as I entered, meticulously closing the door behind me. It was not to avoid his eyes, though it may have appeared that way. It was because under no circumstances did I want the door to be open for any of the sailors to walk by and see or hear my private conversation with Costis. I told myself it was none of their business, but maybe I just didn't want them to see me humble myself.  
  
When I had seen the latch click into place, I drew myself up to meet the Attolian's eyes. He was across the cabin – though considering how small it was, that wasn't very far away – standing next to his bunk, as if he had just turned away from it to put his full attention on me.  
  
I glanced at him, at his bag sitting on his bunk, at the tiny washbasin and mirror next to him, and promptly forgot my planned speech. "I have to apologize," I blurted.  
  
Costis raised a single eyebrow, reminding me maddeningly of Eugenides. "What for?" he asked.  
  
Idiot, I thought. I looked at him incredulously.  
  
He shrugged one shoulder. "Have you done something else?"  
  
"What do you mean, _something else?"_  
  
"Well," he shrugged again, or maybe he was just rolling his gigantic shoulders, "you've already apologized."  
  
I hadn't really thought my frantic yelping in a prison cell counted, but apparently the Attolian thought differently.  
  
"Not for everything," I snapped.  
  
"Oh?" Both eyebrows twitched up this time. "What else is there?"  
  
"Nothing," I said, realizing as I said it how stupid I was making myself sound. "I mean, I have apologized for nothing."  
  
He looked baffled, gods bless him. "Haven't you?" He scratched the side of his head.  
  
"What I mean is," I managed, through gritted teeth, "I haven't explained myself."  
  
His face had already worn the placating, kind expression of a sane person humouring a dangerous madman, but it somehow grew even softer. "Kamet," he said, very carefully, "you don't have to--"  
  
"Would you shut up? Yes, I do." I pressed a hand to my forehead and paused a moment, assuming for gods only know what reason that he was going to do as I said for once and give me a moment to retrieve my carefully planned speech.  
  
"Kamet," he said again. He had stepped forward. That was not good. The cabin was far too small and he was far too close. There was no way, save through divine intervention, that I was going to be able to deliver an oration with him standing that close, towering over me and crowding me near the door which I was now cursing myself for closing. _I must explain my actions..._ yes, that was how I was going to begin.  
  
Costis's hand rested on my arm and stopped me dead. I am sure I stared at it as if I'd never seen another human hand before.  
  
"Kamet," he said again, his voice somehow getting gentler each time he said it, "you have already apologized." He paused. I was still staring at his hand like an imbecile. "I'm not angry at you."  
  
Slowly as a man wading through mud, I dragged my eyes away from where his thumb curled round my sleeve. I squinted up at him. "You're not." It was meant to be a question, which he understood, but I realized the truth of the words the second I looked into his honest, stupid, irritating, handsome face.  
  
"Well, not anymore," he said. "I was at first, I admit. I wish you would have told me about Nahuseresh. And I wish you hadn't tried --" he cleared his throat "-- to lose me so many times. I would have understood. Even if he was dead, and even if you had killed him. Gods know I'd like to kill him myself. But I understand why you did it."  
  
I was no longer sure that I did. "You do?"  
  
"I do admit," he continued, looking me squarely in the face, "to feeling a little used. But I think I've gotten over it."  
  
"Oh, have you?" I asked, my voice dripping doubt and sarcasm.  
  
His face twitched like he might laugh at me but he restrained himself. "I can accept that, while you may have been using me to escape, that does not necessarily mean you were not my friend."  
  
I blinked. That was exactly what it meant. At least, that was what I had told myself it meant. Until he had fallen down a well and almost died, and things got a lot more confusing.  
  
He shrugged again. "My king," he began, and I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Gods, give me a conversation that does not remind me of Eugenides, I prayed. "My king has been telling the both of us that some actions are both cruel _and_ kind. The kindness may not negate the cruelty, but likewise, the cruelty doesn't lessen the kindness."  
  
"It does," I insisted. He was speaking of the king's actions, which might be excused on account of him being the king, and on account of the fact that his kindness did outweigh his cruelty. My actions were not the same: there was no kindness in my using Costis as a free pass out of the empire.  
  
I willed myself not to remember how it had felt to hear his voice drifting up from the darkness of the well.  
  
"Does it?" The Attolian didn't move but he seemed to get closer all the same. I resisted the urge to step back.  
  
"Kamet, are you angry at my King for bringing you here?"  
  
I considered. I had been angry at first, certainly. And when I realized he was that damned sandal polisher, I was angry again. All through my journey with Costis, I had wished I could have stayed in my little alcove in Nahuseresh's office and let the events of the wider world roll over me painlessly. There had been a small, nagging part of me that had wished that during my few months in Attolia, too, though it was never strong enough to find Melheret and take him up on his offer to return me, especially after the disaster at Hemsha when that was no longer an option. But now that I was back with my Attolian, and he was no longer angry at me, and Eugenides wasn't there taunting me with cryptic words and teasing smiles, it was very easy to forgive the king of Attolia.  
  
 _Bastard,_ I thought. I am certain it is a word that has been applied to Eugenides exceedingly often, and he has deserved it every time.  
  
"I suppose not," I said aloud.  
  
"So," said Costis, as if everything in the world had been put right. He was so honest it somehow made me want to cry. We, the gods' handiwork, are flawed at best. How did they mold such a man? To this day, I am sure he is the only one in creation. They shaped him, sent him to earth, found he was too good for the rest of us, and never made another like him. His hand tightened on my arm. "Neither am I angry at you."  
  
"I have lied to you," I said, doubtfully.  
  
He tilted his head in agreement. "So."  
  
"And used you for my own ends." He nodded. "And treated you abominably ill."  
  
"So, so, so," he said. "You have also come back for me when I was trapped at the bottom of a well, watched over me when I was too ill to stand or speak, told me stories in the dark when there were lions and assassins and slavers chasing us down, and tried to get yourself executed in my place," he listed. "And though my King never would have done so, I can still appreciate the motivation behind it. I would be a fool to think--" he shook his head, a rueful smile on his face. "After spending so much time with my king, I would be a fool to think that liars cannot love, or that one cannot love a liar."  
  
"Your king certainly is a liar," I said, thinking again of the sandal polisher with the scarred cheek and the devilish grin.  
  
"Gods help us," Costis agreed, rolling his eyes. "And yet we are here because we love him."  
  
"Speak for yourself," I snorted, though it was true.  
  
The Attolian chuckled. "Mind you, that isn't the only reason. We might love more than one person."  
  
For the first time since entering his cabin, I did not shrink back when he met my eyes. "We might."  
  
There was a moment of silence between us. There had not been many since we arrived back in Attolia. There had been rather more moments of shouting at one another, and even when there was silence, it was a silence that was tense and angry. This silence was entirely the opposite. Perhaps still a little tense, but only in that it was expectant, each of us waiting for the other, knowing what was coming but debating if we ought to be the one to start it, or if we should hold til the other was ready.  
  
And then, the moment was over. While I was still working out the stage directions that would carry us to the next scene of this play, Costis leaned down and caught my lips with his.  
  
I had known it was coming. I had been standing there, debating the logistics of it, calculating the difference between my height and his, combining it with the distance between us and wondering what trajectory and speed I would need to propel myself upwards towards his mouth without knocking our teeth together, and yet it still surprised me.  
  
It shouldn't have. It wasn't exactly out of character for me to stand about overthinking things while the Attolian simply got them done. But it still did. Even after all he'd said, after all the king had said and done, after what Laela had said, after what the kitchen staff at the palace had said, after all, all.  
  
I was still surprised to find myself loved.  
  
Oh, I had been valued by Nahuseresh, and even by some of his peers. I had been respected and envied by other slaves. I had taken pride in myself and my own abilities: I was a skilled writer, speaker, translator, and secretary.  
  
But I had never been loved, or so I thought, and I was still getting used to it. I did not know what it meant. To be loved. It was overwhelming to find that Laela, and likely some of the other slaves, had loved me all along. It was overwhelming to find that Attolia's kitchen staff, whom I had seen as rough and uneducated, were so much more knowledgeable than me when it came to love. It was overwhelming to find that the love of slaves and kitchen staff was every bit as fulfilling as the love of the terrifyingly beautiful queen of Attolia and her even more terrifying husband, a king greater even than the Emperor.  
  
Most overwhelming of all, though, was the simple, honest, straightforward love of a soldier. A soldier who sang folk songs while he tinned pots, but could snap the neck of a slave-trader without breaking a sweat. A soldier who fought alone against lions and dogs and men who outnumbered him, then asked to be told stories as he fell asleep.  
  
It was because I was so overwhelmed, I told myself, that I lost my breath so quickly when the Attolian's mouth closed over mine. It seemed like it took no time at all before I was pushing back and gasping for breath.  
  
I stood back, my hand still curled into his tunic. His face was still close to mine, his hand still on my arm.  
  
"I am sorry, Kamet," he said, inexplicably. I hadn't the faintest idea what he was apologizing for. For the kiss being so short? For not kissing me sooner? For cutting off my air supply? Perhaps for kissing me at all, but I chose to ignore that possibility. "I should have --"  
  
I did not let him finish. "You apologize too much," I said and hauled on his tunic to pull him back to me.  
  
"Sorry," he said again, and as his face neared mine, the corner of his mouth quirked up. He was making fun of me. I chose to ignore it. There were more pressing matters at hand.  
  
Under normal circumstances, there was no way I could have moved him an inch, so much greater was his stature and strength than mine. But when I tugged on his shirt he leaned forward, which could only mean that either I had been briefly granted the strength of a god, or that he wanted to come. Our teeth did knock together this time, which was regrettable, but not enough for us to part, though the Attolian did murmur an "ow" against my lips.  
  
It could not have hurt him very badly. It hardly hurt me, and he is made of much stronger stuff.  
  
"Shut up," I murmured back, and beneath my hand, I could feel the laughter rumbling in his chest.  
  
It was in that moment, I think, I began to understand. I should have understood before, of course, at some point while I was traveling with him, or when he was trying his damnedest to get in trouble with his king and higher officers for me, but I didn't.  
  
Love is not what the stories describe. Many stories make it seem easy, and many make it seem hard. Immakuk and Ennikar gave up much for each other, just as Costis and I had done, but even those stories didn't have it quite right, for the simple reason that there are no words to describe what love truly is.  
  
I had lied to Costis and abused his trust in me. He had deceived me about his king. I had nearly gotten him killed countless times, and left him for dead. He had nearly strangled me.  
  
None of these things were love, but at the same time, neither was love the way his arms twisted around my back and lifted me off my feet. Love was not the way my hands traveled up his chest and neck to tangle in his once-neat curls.  
  
No. Rather, love was the fact that he still wanted to twist his hands round my back, though I'd lied to him every day I'd known him. The fact that I still wanted to tangle my fingers in his hair though he'd once wrapped his around my neck. Love did not erase the ways we'd hurt each other. We would always bear scars, and we would need to forgive one another again and again. But love was the thing that made us able to forgive.  
  
Not erase, but forgive.  
  
Somewhere in the midst of realizing this, in the midst of feeling Costis's massive hands pressing into my ribs, in the midst of his tongue darting into my mouth, his teeth nipping at my lips, his hair sliding through my fingers, I thought of Eugenides.  
  
I prayed I would never again think of him while kissing Costis, but gods help me, I did think of him this time.  
  
He had said the same action might be both cruel and kind, and now, more than ever, I realized he was right, and that perhaps love was something like that. A willingness to accept, not cruelty, but the fact that those we love may, at times, be cruel. To recognize that we may, more times than we mean to, be cruel as well. That we should not deny the cruelty or even forget it, but that perhaps some cruelties can be forgiven.  
  
Forgiveness had been almost as strange a concept to me as love, or sincere apologies. As a slave, my trespasses had been forgiven, but only after a beating. They were forgiven because I was taught not to make the same mistake again, and because I was still useful.  
  
I had made no promise not to lie to Costis again, nor had he asked me to. I was positive the king had never made any such promise to any of his friends or loved ones, and even if he had, there was none of them were fool enough to believe him. And yet we forgave each other. In fact, I had found it easy to forgive the king, and forgiving Costis had happened so quickly that I'd never even realized a need to forgive him.  
  
I had found it easy to forgive the king for the simple reason that I loved him. I was able to forgive my Costis for the same reason.  
  
Perhaps I finally accepted that Costis loved me because he had forgiven me. Or perhaps I accepted that he had forgiven me because he loved me. Perhaps I had finally come to my senses and realized that all of this, from the raw caggi to the Namreen to the schemes of Eugenides to Costis himself, was part of some celestial plan, that the gods had seen me, alone and friendless, and in their mercy, thrown me in Eugenides’s path, knowing he would in turn send Costis to save me from myself. Forgiving Costis shouldn’t have been easy. He had tried to strangle me. Loving him should have been no easier. But perhaps we all borrow a little of the gods’ divine power when we forgive someone.

Or perhaps I think too much, and none of that matters at all, and we simply love each other.

I had to admit that, with Costis’s lips back on mine, I suspected it was the latter.

***

_To forgive, divine._


End file.
